“I’m wearing pants!”

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The weather is dank and miserable as I pull up to one of Lombard’s many dive bars. It’s around 3 in the morning, and there’s a middle-aged man sitting with his legs splayed in the doorway. He’s surrounded by plastic bags filled with detritus.

“Hey, man, you call a cab?” I shout through the lowered window.

“Yes, can you please help me up?”

I begrudgingly get out to do so. As I reach down to offer him my hand, I notice that his paper hospital pants have a huge tear in the crotch and ass. I can see both his scrotum and his colostomy bag.